


everything we need (is here and now)

by greeneyedharpy



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyedharpy/pseuds/greeneyedharpy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer goes on a vacation, and his world gets turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything we need (is here and now)

"…Right."

Spencer doesn't mean to say that out loud. It just kind of slips out as he steps into his hotel room, hauling his bags behind him, and is confronted with someone who isn't Ryan, but is probably the hottest guy he has ever seen. It isn't really something he expects on his first day in Australia, not when he's arranged to spend his whole vacation rooming with Ryan.

And judging by the guy's reaction–tripping over the corner of the bed to land face first on the floor–Spencer's guessing he wasn't really expected, either.

But hey. At least the guy is awkward on top of being hot. Spencer hates it when people are too perfect to be real.

 

"I think there's been a mistake," Spencer says, handing over his makeshift ice pack. It's mostly just a hand towel wrapped around the ice tray from the mini fridge, but Hot Guy hit the ground pretty hard. It would be a shame if he bruised.

"So you keep saying." Hot Guy winces, gingerly applying the ice to his shin. "I mean, you're on the tour too, right? You've got the tag on your luggage. Waikiki or some shit?"

"Contiki," Spencer automatically corrects, brushing Hot Guy's hands out of the way so he can properly apply the ice pack. As a teacher, Spencer's had to get certified in first aid; he knows how to deal with injuries like this. Sure, he might only be a drum teacher, but kids on drums are fucking _fierce_. Knowledge of first aid is a must. "And yeah, I am. But I spoke to the coordinator months ago, and she assured me that my friend and I would be in the same room." It was pretty much the only reason Spencer had relented and agreed to come to Australia, especially on a vacation which would be spent, for the most part, on a bus with strangers. That and the beaches. If Spencer is going to travel, he wants to do it knowing there's no chance his roommate is going to come back drunk, throw up all over his stuff, and then try to have sex with him.

Hot Guy looks at Spencer like he's trying to figure something out, though he doesn't give any indication of what that might be. "Maybe there wasn't enough room."

Spencer rolls his eyes, because _come on_. How does that logic even work? If he has a room, and, presumably, Ryan has a room too, of course there's enough space! How hard is it to put two people in the same room? Hot Guy shifts on the bed. He tries to take the ice pack off, but Spencer sighs and stops him again.

"You're kind of bossy, huh," Hot Guy remarks, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He leans back on the bed and watches Spencer with his dark, bedroom eyes. "That's pretty awesome."

"I'm not going to sleep with you." Spencer replies without missing a beat. And he might be sorry, but he means it. Hot Guy or no, Spencer didn't just sit through an hour of lecture on the "dos and don'ts of Contiki touring" down in the conference room to go and break the golden rule an hour later. He frowns, pulling the ice pack away. It doesn't look like there's any bruising, and it probably wouldn't hurt for Hot Guy to suffer a blemish or two, anyway. If you ask Spencer, he needs something to offset the scruffy beard, and the sleepy, 'come-fuck-me' eyes.

"I wasn't asking you to," Hot Guy laughs, sitting up so he can take the ice pack from Spencer. When his fingers brush Spencer's this time, Spencer doesn't bat them away. "But hey," Hot Guy continues–still smirking, like it's his default expression–"it's cool to know you want to."

"I don't _want_ to," Spencer says, springing backwards onto his feet. "I don't even know your name."

"Haven't you ever had one of those experiences where that doesn't matter?" Hot Guy asks, grinning and flopping back on the bed. He tucks his hands behind his head, and his red t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of tanned stomach and a hint of his snail trail. "But if you're a stickler for rules like that, I'm Jon. Jonathan Jacob Walker, twenty-three, of Chicago, Illinois, United States of America, just so we can be on much more intimate terms."

Spencer has a sense of humour, okay? He likes jokes, can laugh at himself, laughs at Ryan _a lot_ , and he can always tell when his students are being sarcastic with him. But this? This isn't funny. It's annoying and smirky and rude, and not hot or sexy in the slightest. He folds his arm over his chest, cocks his hip, and glares. "This has to be the _biggest_ mistake ever."

 

It isn't a mistake, though, which sucks. An hour, two confrontations, and an intervention by Ryan later, Spencer discovers that the girl he spoke to about room assignments isn't with the company anymore. His request was just one of nearly a hundred that slipped through the cracks. And that's _fine_ , that's okay. It's not the end of the world, he can just make Jon switch with Ryan, and everything will be back to the way that he planned.

Except.

"His name is Tom," Ryan grins, wrapping his fingers around the neck of a bottle of beer that cost Spencer eight Australian dollars, and despite the price, doesn't taste any better than American beer. "And oh my god, doesn't he look like he'd give the best head you'll ever have in your life?"

Spencer does not think so. In fact, Spencer thinks Ryan's new roommate looks like a hobo in his bad cargo shorts and one of the shitty t-shirts they sell to the tourists at the hotel for thirty-five bucks.

"I mean," Ryan says, waving his beer in the air. Spencer wonders if he's actually going to drink it, or if he's just going to use it to accentuate everything he says. "It sucks that we can't have the same room, but now that it's done, it turned out pretty great."

Spencer sighs, resting his cheek on his fist. Maybe it turned out pretty great for Ryan, but Spencer got the shitty end of the bargain. "You know you're not allowed to sleep with him, right?"

Ryan scoffs, taking a swig of Spencer's beer and wincing.

"Says who? This is shit beer, by the way."

"Say the group leaders," Spencer replies. He should have figured Ryan didn't listen to the lecture, despite the fact that Spencer had even elbowed him once or twice when it looked like he was falling asleep. "Also, I like that beer. And it's local. I'm getting into the spirit of things, not just focusing on sex," he says, reclaiming his beer.

"You're talking about sex again?" Jon appears, snaking Spencer's beer out of his hand. He takes a sip, and hands it back to Spencer, grinning. "You must like me a lot. Also, your friend–Ryan?–here is right. That is some pretty terrible beer. I don't sleep with people who have bad taste in beer." Then, before Spencer can say another word, Jon's off again, still smiling. Spencer picks up his beer, thinking that maybe he'll get to actually drink some of it himself, and watches as Jon makes his way across the dance floor, jostled by the sweaty, drunk, sunburned tourists.

"Oh yeah," Ryan snorts, tugging Spencer's beer away again before he even has a chance to taste it, "you're _so_ not focused on sex at all."

 

When Spencer gets back to the hotel room later that night, it's weird. There's only so much he can take when it comes to watching Ryan flirt with Tom, everyone else seems to have paired or grouped off already, and that sucks, because Spencer ends up spending most of his time convincing himself that he definitely, _definitely_ isn't desperate enough to seek out Jon for company. Because Spencer isn't, it's just that there's only so much bad _thumpa-thumpa_ music and watching Ryan suck some stranger's face that he can handle.

"You disappeared early," Spencer says, stopping in the doorway of his hotel room. He's surprised to find Jon lying on the twin bed closest to the window, television remote in hand as he flips through the stations. A half-empty glass of red wine sits on the nightstand, next to some brochures and a camera. When Spencer speaks, Jon mutes the television and sets the remote down. He smiles at Spencer, and Spencer isn't entirely sure that it's just the beer that's making his head spin.

"Why, were you looking out for me?"

Spencer flushes, shoving his hands in his pockets. The room is uncomfortably warm. "Ryan is busy trying to get in his roommate's pants," he shrugs. "Not exactly the most exciting thing for me to be a part of."

"So you thought of me." Jon grins again and stretches his hands above his head. He's shorter than Spencer, his toes barely reaching the foot of the bed, even though he's stretching. Spencer keeps telling himself that he shouldn't find that so adorable. "I'm flattered, I've gotta say."

The strip of belly exposed is not quite enough to draw Spencer's eyes this time. He's totally wise to Jon's tricks now. "I'd rather just be friends, you know. I'm not going to have sex with you, but we''ll be sharing rooms for a while, and it would just make it so much easier if we could just be friends or something."

Something flashes over Jon's face, but Spencer doesn't know how to interpret it, and it's gone after a minute anyway, again replaced by Jon's smile. It's a little different than before, there's something less enticing about it, but it's nice.

"Sure," Jon says, and picking up the remote, unmutes the television. A minute or two go past, during which the woman on screen says something about a summer bay and a baby and a kidnapping, before Jon mutes the programme and looks up at Spencer again. "But you need to tell me your name, because I forgot to ask before, so I've just been calling you 'Hot Guy' in my head."

Spencer laughs, and kicks off his shoes next to his suitcase. "It's Spencer. Spencer Smith."

 

Jon likes flip-flops. Spencer discovers this exactly two hours into their first day of the tour. They're still in Sydney, which is the biggest city in Australia–but not the capital, the tour guide explains–so they need some time to explore. Before they left Vegas, Ryan and Spencer talked about seeing the Opera House, the Botanical Gardens, and art museums. Spencer toyed with the idea of writing up an itinerary, but Ryan hid his planner. " _Vacations are supposed to be_ spontaneous _Spence,_ " he said, and fine. Ryan got spontaneous. Ryan forgot all about his and Spencer's plans the moment he met Tom, so now Spencer is stuck with Jon, in some kind of mall in the middle of the city, looking at _flip-flops_. They aren't even real shoes.

"You know, this city is on the water? We could take a cruise on a boat or something."

Jon maybe doesn't hear him, or maybe he's too excited about finding flip-flops printed with the Australian flag to notice that Spencer's talking. Jon made some pretty undignified noises when he first saw the store, with a wall, a fucking _wall_ of flip-flops, and Spencer would have found those noises totally sexy if it weren't for the fact Jon was making orgasm noises over flip-flops.

"You're interested in thongs, then?" A salesgirl approaches Jon, who startles.

"I, um. Uhh, I don't really see how that's relevant."

Spencer coughs into his hand, trying to hide his fit of laughter. Jon's eyes are wide, and he's regarding the girl suspiciously, like she's about to accuse him of enjoying a good pair of French panties.

"Well, that's what you're interested in buying, right?" The salesgirl is bright and cheerful, with chipped green nail polish and a messy ponytail. She is also completely and utterly oblivious to Jon's absolute and utter panic.

"I was just, um, looking at these, actually," Jon gestures to the wall of flip-flops, making "help me!" eyes at Spencer.

The misunderstanding is pretty funny if you ask Spencer, who smiles at the shop girl. "Jon is actually quite the thong connoisseur," he says as he folds his arms over his chest and raises a challenging eyebrow. "He was just looking to buy some more."

"You've come to the right place then," the girl chirps. Spencer is absolutely loving this, grinning to himself while Jon makes panicked, spluttered excuses, trying to change the topic from thongs to flip-flops.

"I would definitely go with the Havainas if you're going for comfort," the sales girl says as she begins her pitch. "The upside of the brand is that they're a unisex brand, and they come in a great range of colours and patterns. I have some purple ones myself, and ones with hearts on them." She pauses, looking Jon over. "But I think," she says, lips pursed as she takes in his well worn, dark blue shirt, and khaki shorts, "you'd probably like the camouflage ones better, or maybe the black ones."

_Help_ , Jon's eyes are practically screaming, and Spencer snorts. Serves him right for dragging Spencer to buy flip-flops when there's a whole city outside to explore. Jon will get it eventually, he can't be _that_ dense.

"I think the cherry print ones would suit him, actually," Spencer smirks, and watches Jon slowly die inside.

Still, Jon does get it eventually, and when they leave an hour later he has five new pairs of flip-flops.

" _Thongs!_ " Spencer cries cheerfully, still enjoying Jon's discomfort. Oh, this is totally a hundred times better than seeing any old garden.

"Shut up," Jon mutters as he blushes, shoving the receipt into the bag. "How was I supposed to know?"

Spencer laughs some more, until his jaw hurts and he's gasping for breath. _Thongs!_

"Whatever." Jon brushes past him, holding on tightly to his new purchases. He turns around to face Spencer, walking backwards down the street. "You spent some time in there thinking about my ass in a thong, don't even try to deny it."

 

Ryan and Tom are still inseparable at dinner that night, and Jon is being unbearably smug about Spencer wanting him, even though it's _not true, god, shut up Jon_ , so Spencer falls dejectedly into the one empty seat left at the opposite end of the restaurant from Jon. He sighs, torn between glaring at Ryan and glaring at Jon.

"What sort of attitude is that? We're in Australia! This country is made for fun!"

The guy talking to Spencer is wearing a shirt that announces, "I'm Going Down! (Under)," and has a pair of electric blue shades pushed up in his hair. He smiles at Spencer and lifts up his drink, something bright green in a glass with an umbrella in it.

"This country was made for criminals," Spencer mutters, because yeah, he brushed up on his history a little on the plane. It was a long flight. He picks up the straw in his drink and stabs dejectedly at the ice cubes floating in it.

"Cheer up," the guy says, still smiling widely. "You're on vacation! Vacations are for fun!"

The guy seems to have a theme, Spencer notices. He offers a weak smile, lifting his drink into the air. "Woo," he says, in his best impression of Ryan, tone dry as can be.

But the guy either doesn't catch the sarcasm or doesn't care. He beams at Spencer, sitting back in his seat. "That's better. I'm Brendon, and this is Shane," he gestures to the guy sitting next to him. Shane is taller than Brendon, with striking eyes, hair swept over his forehead, and a grey, woolen hat, even though it's the middle of fucking summer.

"Roommates?" Spencer asks, wondering if everyone just uses these package tour vacations as an excuse to hook up in a foreign country.

But Shane snorts, halfway through taking a sip of his drink, and ends up nearly choking.

"No," Brendon laughs, patting Shane on the back. Spencer frowns, and offers his napkin in apology. "I mean, not unless you're from the nineteen forties and are completely repressed about people's sexualities."

"What he's trying to say," Shane interrupts with a friendly smile, "is that we're together."

"Boyfriends," Brendon adds, smiling at Shane like he invented kittens and unicorns. Spencer doesn't scowl, if only because they're kind of sweet, unlike some people he could mention, busy sucking face at another table.

"That's cool," Spencer nods, dragging his gaze away from his overly amorous, traitorous best friend. _Hands where we can see them, Ross_ , he wants to yell, but Ryan and Tom are both grown men in their twenties. This isn't Spencer trying to prevent Ryan from getting kicked out of a club back home _again_ , because it's taken a month and seven fake IDs to get them in. "I'm here with my best friend," he explains as he turns back to Brendon and Shane, who both have _their_ hands on the table, Brendon's left in Shane's right, like mature adults. "Only he seems to have decided getting laid is more important than seeing Australia with me."

"Sucks." Shane picks up his fork left handed, and unsuccessfully tries to spear a sausage–they called it _Australian cuisine!_ –and happily biting the end off one when he finally succeeds. "Babe," he says, turning to Brendon and holding out the sausage. "These are good. Try."

Spencer rolls his eyes when Brendon snickers, essentially deep throating the sausage before he takes a bite. It's not really over the top, though, when Brendon steals the tomatoes of Shane's plate, when they finish each other's sentences, when Shane eats the cookie crust of Brendon's cheesecake at dessert. They're undoubtedly couple-y, with Brendon's smile shining just a bit brighter for Shane, and neither of them ever being further than an inch apart, but they're not exclusive. Over dinner and drinks they talk _to_ Spencer, not _at_ him, asking him questions when they say that they've been talking too much. It feels like hanging at home with friends, the couples who have moved out into the big, scary, grown up world, but still come around on Saturdays for pizza and and drunken _SingStar_. When they leave the restaurant that night and Brendon jumps on Shane's back, Spencer grins.

"Shane, put me down, I wanna ride Spence now," Brendon announces after a little while. Outside the restaurant it is muggy and drizzling, and even though it's midnight, the sky is a weird mixture of black and orange, but Spencer stops and waits for Brendon anyway, even laughs when Brendon spurs him on by kicking him gently in the sides.

"You're my favourite vacation friend we've made yet." Brendon's unique brand of enthusiasm must be catching, because Spencer just laughs and trudges forward when Brendon calls, "Onward, noble steed!"

 

It takes three days for Ryan to realise that the world is still turning outside of Tom, but Spencer doesn't really mind that much. Hanging out with Brendon and Shane has mellowed him out. He flirts with the cute Australian Kangaroo guy at the zoo, eats shark at a restaurant in Chinatown, and sits at the back of the bus with Shane and Brendon, laughing like an obnoxious school child all the way from Sydney to their next destination. Ryan even joins them, when it dawns on him he hasn't properly spoken to his best friend in three days. Shane and Brendon, who were best friends before they were a couple, tell embarrassing stories about each other. Spencer listens, laughs in all the right spots, then grins at Ryan and launches into tales from their own childhoods, trying to top Brendon and Shane.

It's a four hour trip–made longer by numerous toilet stops along the way–to stop number two, a beach town. During the drive, Jon turns around in his seat to look at Spencer no less than eighteen times. Not that Spencer's keeping count, no, that would be incredibly lame. But Brendon, Shane, and Ryan are another story entirely, keeping a tally marked " _Should Spencer have hot vacation sex, y/n?_ " on the back of the day's tour itinerary.

"I wasn't aware we'd gone back to elementary school," Spencer mutters, but Ryan elbows him in the side shortly before Brendon crows, "Ohmygod, he's looking again!" and they all laugh and duck behind the seats in front of them.

 

They get off the bus to blue skies, salty, refreshing sea air, and beach-side accommodations. Resort staff mill around on the beach, setting up a great big grill, deck chairs, and a bonfire that looks like it might swallow Spencer whole if he stepped inside of it. Spencer takes a deep breath and smiles. It feels a little like a summer camp, except for the part where all his summer camp friends are encouraging him to sleep with his roommate.

"Romantic, isn't it?" Jon breathes into Spencer's ear and slides a hand over his back. Spencer yelps, startling.

"I'd say creepy, more than romantic," Spencer clenches his fists at his sides, willing his heart to stop racing, willing his breathing to slow, willing Jon to disappear. "Do you sneak up on everyone you want to sleep with or am I just lucky?"

But Jon laughs, taking his (large, warm, soft) hand from Spencer's back and slides it into his pocket. He raises up onto his tiptoes, then sinks back down, grinning. "I'll make you change your mind about me yet, Spencer Smith."

Spencer bites his bottom lip and stares out at the ocean. Thinks about toeing off his shoes, about stripping down and submerging himself in the water. He stares until he hears Jon sigh and shuffle off across the beach, calling out to someone else.

"He made eyes at you twenty-seven times!" Brendon crows smugly, arriving on the scene on Shane's back. "He thinks you are so hot, Spence! You should totally sleep with him."

"You should, Spencer," Ryan adds, appearing on Spencer's other side. For a moment, it seems like Ryan has doubled in size, but no, it's just Tom. Spencer had wondered about Tom, had supposed that Tom would only be around when Ryan wanted to get laid. But no. Apparently they are " _connecting on a deeper level_ " which basically means everywhere Ryan goes, Tom goes, too. Ryan smirks at Tom, dragging his tongue over his teeth. "Vacation sex is _amazing_."

"Like you would not believe," Tom agrees. It's the first time Spencer has heard him speak, but he's too busy rolling his eyes to really enjoy the moment.

"I think I'd rather not take advice from someone who snuck off from the rest of the group to get a blowjob in the bathroom at the rest stop, thanks."

Shane sniggers, while Brendon shelves his chin on Shane's shoulder and whispers something in his ear that makes him turn red.

"For your information," Ryan announces imperiously, ignoring Brendon and Shane, "it was just handjobs. The bathroom floor was all gross, and I didn't want to get my pants dirty."

Spencer snorts, digs his toes into the sand, and then kicks it. "I'm going to go and find my room." He turns around, struggling across the sand.

"And tell Jon you think he's hot stuff!" Brendon calls across the beach, laughing. "Men like to be told they're sexy."

Spencer can feel about a million sets of eyes on his back as he makes the slow trek over the beach to the bus. "I do not," he mumbles to himself, embarrassed, as the last of his dignity saps out over the sand.

 

Jon is already in their room by the time Spencer drags his suitcase up there, lying on the bed closest to the window _again_ with his hands behind his head. He's panting and grinning and he looks dishevelled.

"I heard you think I'm hot stuff."

Spencer raises his eyebrows and slings his suitcase onto the other bed. He absolutely will _not_ blush. "Do not."

"Well, your friend just announced it to the whole beach, so... do so."

Spencer looks at Jon suspiciously. The panting, the grin, Jon's clothes all askew. "What is wrong with you?"

Jon props himself up on his elbows, eyes dancing. "Nothing you couldn't fix."

"You are so—"

"That is not the answer I am looking for, Spencer Hot Guy Smith."

Spencer forgets about not blushing and flops onto his bed. He stares up at the ceiling, taking deep, slow, calming breaths. Soothing, white ceiling with one, two, three, six cracks and a footprint. Forget about Jon Walker and his goading. Forget about his stupid friends, who think he should just have sex all the time instead of actually enjoying Australia, never mind the five thousand dollars he paid for this whole adventure.

"Spence?"

Spencer blinks slowly, rolling onto his side. Jon is standing on his bunk, staring into Spencer's eyes. Their faces are bare millimetres apart. If Spencer rolled just that little bit closer, they could... He blinks, trying to ignore his dizzying proximity to Jon.

"I ran up here," Jon admits, a slow, dopey grin creeping across his face. "When your friend yelled that out, I ran up here to beat you back."

"Jon," Spencer says softly, shifting onto his side. Just a smidge or two more, and their lips would brush. Spencer's tongue darts over his lips nervously, but he can't take his eyes off of Jon's, deep brown and warm.

"Spencer," Jon replies. It's summertime in Australia, Spencer is certain that is the reason the air seems so heavy, hot, and sticky. Spencer tries to breathe. His heart is thumping so hard in his chest. He blinks, and in the millisecond that his eyes are closed, he's sure that Jon kisses him, a fleeting scrape of his lips against Spencer's, his beard against Spencer's skin.

But when Spencer opens his eyes, Jon is biting his lip and looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Come swimming with me tonight?"

Spencer knows that there are reasons he shouldn't agree to it, but he has a hard time remembering what they are with Jon this close.

"Yeah," he agrees, voice raspy, and rolls onto his back.

 

When Spencer finally joins Ryan and the others at the bonfire, the sun has set and the alcohol is flowing. Someone shoves a beer into his hand when he steps out onto the sand, and three steps later, he has a sausage wrapped in bread in the other hand. This beer tastes better than the last Australian one he had, but he's not entirely sold on this whole "sausage sizzle" thing. Still, he munches it hungrily, and by the time he's found Ryan and Tom with Brendon and Shane, he's on his second. What surprises him is that Jon is shirtless, sitting in between Ryan and Brendon, talking and laughing as if they've been friends for years instead of just an hour. Spencer stops a ways away from them, curling his toes into the sand self-consciously. He tugs at the strings of his board shorts, watching his friends until Shane catches his eye. Spencer offers a shy wave, but Shane smiles and beckons him over. When Brendon notices Shane, he looks over and grins. Spencer wonders if Jon's told them about the kiss, but he shakes his head. It doesn't matter. He steps across the sand, hoping that the heat spreading over his skin comes from the roaring bonfire rather than embarrassment.

"Hey," he greets, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks at Ryan, at Shane, at Brendon and Tom, but not at Jon.

"You ready for our swim?" Jon's chest is broad and tanned and Spencer has a hard time looking away from the contours of faint muscle definition and the v of skin where Jon's shorts hang low on his hips. Spencer whimpers something affirmative, but more noticeable is the group's braying laugh.

"If you do not get laid tonight, Jon Walker," Brendon announces over the top of everyone else, "me and Shane will have a threesome with you."

 

Spencer's cheeks are still hot when Jon leads him away from the group gathered by the bonfire to a more secluded spot around the corner.

"Ta da!" Jon waves his arms, grinning. "It's pretty cool, isn't it?"

Jon has brought Spencer to a swimming pool cut out of the cliff face. Spencer has to agree that yeah, it's really fucking cool. Every so often, waves wash up and splash over the side of the ledge, showering the pool in ocean spray. The whole area is illuminated from one floodlight overhead, so it isn't too shadowy, but it isn't too bright, either.

"Romantic, isn't it?" Jon sidles up to Spencer. "Sexy."

Spencer laughs and shakes his head, pretending like this whole thing hasn't just increased the chances of Jon getting into his pants tenfold. "Fuck you, Jon Walker. I don't care what Brendon told you. I am not a sure thing."

Jon blinks at Spencer, but his smile doesn't fade. "If you're going to be like that..." He scoots a little closer to Spencer so their skin brushes, hot and sticky. "Then you leave me with no choice."

Spencer doesn't get the opportunity to ask Jon what he means, because a second later, Jon bumps his hip into Spencer's hard, and Spencer falls, flailing, right into the pool. He lands with a splash and comes up spluttering. His hair is stuck to his face, in his eyes, and he spits a mouthful of water across the pool.

"You are so not getting into my pants now." Spencer swipes his hand across his eyes, so he can see again. Through the water, he can see that the entire pool is lined with small blue tiles, smooth and slippery under his feet. He floats on his back, waving his hands through the water. "This place is amazing."

Spencer stares up at the night sky. He can see the moon and the stars, but they're completely different from the way he's used to seeing them. He tries to pick out familiar constellations, the ones he and Ryan used to gaze at when they went through their five-month phase of wanting to be boy scouts, but he can't find any of them.

"Southern Hemisphere," Jon offers by way of explanation, floating beside him. The water is starting to trickle into his ears, making everything sound tinny and distant. "We're looking at a completely different night sky than the one in America. Different constellations and all."

"It's cool," Spencer agrees. He can't spot a single star in the sky that he recognises. "And kind of trippy, in a good way."

Jon stands up in the water, pointing to the sky. "See those five stars there? That's called the Southern Cross. It's the most famous constellation in the Southern Hemisphere."

Spencer stands up too, shaking the water out of his ears. He looks up, trying to find the stars Jon is pointing to, but they all just look the same. Without a useful point of reference, he has absolutely no clue what to look at. "Do you know any more?" He asks, hoping for something, anything to help him see them.

But Jon just shrugs, turning to look at him with a guilty smile. "Um, that's all I know. From my flip-flops. The Australian flag ones. They have the Southern Cross on them."

Jon's guilty face and the way he flicks at the water distractedly should not be as endearing as it is. Spencer used to have a long list of the reasons why it is a bad idea to sleep with Jon, but they keep rapidly disappearing every time Jon smiles.

"You're no fun, then," Spencer teases, flicking water at Jon, who ducks. "So much for you getting laid tonight."

Jon smirks, sinking in the water so totally he's submerged, except for his head. "I'll change your mind yet." He gulps in a mouthful of water and then spits it back at Spencer.

"Ew," Spencer wrinkles his nose, ducking under the water. It's clear and cool and he languishes under the surface before he resurfaces to find Jon is much, much closer. "Woah, hi!" he laughs, trying not to feel nervous under Jon's gaze. It's kind of intense, and really hot. Spencer thinks he knows now what it feels like to be mentally undressed.

"Hi," Jon crowds in on him, stepping forward so Spencer swims back. "I thought I should get to the seducing part already." He steps closer again, forcing Spencer back against the pool wall.

For a moment or two, Spencer forgets to breathe. He stares at Jon's eyes, his mouth, then bites his own lip, panting. "I said I wasn't a sure thing," he says quietly, toes slipping against the tiles on the bottom.

Jon catches Spencer before he slips under, his large hands warm on Spencer's hips. "Haven't I changed your mind yet?"

Sppencer doesn't know how to reply without making a squeaky, undignified noise. He nods, instead, spreading his hands over Jon's chest and leaning in to press his lips against Jon's. Jon makes a surprised noise, and then a pleased one, his mouth opening under Spencer's. His hands holding on tight to Spencer's hips, keeping him from sliding, and the thought sends a thrill through Spencer. He wraps his arms around Jon's neck so he can tilt his head back and explore Jon's mouth with his tongue. Jon tastes like beer and ketchup and makes this delicious whimpering noise when Spencer pulls back and sucks on his bottom lip.

"You're good at that," Jon says, leaning up to brush his lips against Spencer's. "Wanna do it again?" He doesn't give Spencer the opportunity to say yes or no, but Spencer doesn't care. Jon's tongue licks at the seam of his lips, and when he steps closer to Spencer, he can feel Jon's dick, half-hard against his leg. Spencer gasps, but Jon presses in close again, and after that it seems only natural for Spencer to arch back, moaning into Jon's mouth.

"Hey," Jon drags his lips over Spencer's jaw, thumbs brushing over his skin in the water. He slides his hands down Spencer's sides, pressing his fingers into his thighs. "Wrap your legs around me." His tongue darts over the pulse point below Spencer's ear, coaxing him to comply. Spencer is buoyant in the water, so it's easy enough to let Jon balance them while he wraps his legs around Jon's waist. When he looks at Jon, sliding his hands over Jon's broad back, he shudders a little. "Like that," Jon says quietly, holding onto Spencer's legs tight. This time, when Jon presses him back against the wall, there's a whole new angle for friction, shocking and delicious. Spencer's vision whites out for a minute or two.

"I'm not supposed to be this easy," he pants, grinding into Jon. The water slaps in lazy waves against them. "What are you doing to me?"

"It's called dry humping," Jon smirks as he lowers his head, scraping his teeth over Spencer's pale neck. Spencer moans, tilting his head back, disappointed when Jon lifts his head, still rutting against him. "Or not, I guess, in this case."

Spencer's laugh is more of a breathy moan. His skin feels hot and prickly, even when a wave crashes up over the side of the pool and rains cool water down on them. Jon is driving him crazy. It feels insane, the two of them rutting each other. Spencer bows his head, holding on to Jon tightly. "Jon," he gasps, feeling the slow coil in his belly.

Jon lets out a shaky breath and presses harder against Spencer, whimpering quietly. "Here," he says, letting go of Spencer's hip long enough to push down his board shorts, freeing Spencer's cock.

The unexpected rush of cool water across heated skin causes a sudden sensory overload, and Spencer doesn't even notice Jon freeing his own cock until he wraps his hand around them both, pumping them up and down.

"Oh my fucking _god_ ," Spencer laughs, because he doesn't know what else to do. He's dizzy and on fire. "Fuck," he curses a second later, when Jon squeezes slightly. Spencer's eyes slide closed and he clings to Jon, thrusting into his hand and moaning a jumble of sounds because he doesn't have enough higher brain function left to string two words together. Jon strokes him a couple more times, whispering to him, dirty and coaxing, and then Spencer's shuddering as he comes, clinging to Jon, panting his name over and over.

A second later and Jon follows, whimpering and pleading, nosing at Spencer's cheeks. "Spence," he moans, "Fuck, fuck, _Spencer_ , so hot," and Spencer turns his head and catches Jon's lips in a kiss. It's slow and lazy and Spencer lets out a happy little sigh.

 

"You are insanely sexy," Jon pants, pecking at Spencer's lips one last time. Spencer unwraps himself from around Jon, and grins. It's loose at the corners and he feels like he could just float away right about now.

"Mmm," Spencer agrees happily, floating on his back. He wriggles his toes in the water, squirming and enjoying the moment. " _Mmmmmm_ ," he says again, words failing him. A nap would be awesome right about now, he decides. He and Jon could stake out a deck chair, snooze, then wake up before the sun and have actual, slow, lazy sex. It would probably be amazing, waking up with Jon and the sea air, and fucking as the sun rises and lights the sky all pink and orange and purple.

He opens his mouth to suggest it, but Jon's lips cover his own, smiling, stealing one last kiss. "You should put that away, Hot Guy," Jon smirks at Spencer and palms over his still-sensitive dick. "Before I get any more ideas."

Spencer tucks himself back into his board shorts and redoes the laces. As they climb out of the pool, he runs his hand over Jon's ass, leans in and grins. "Don't think I'd mind in the slightest."

 

A cheer goes up when they rejoin the group. The party's still thriving on the beach, and Brendon and Ryan want high fives, but Spencer can't bring himself to. He shrugs at them and offers half-hearted smiles instead, and for the five minutes that they stand and try to make awkward conversation, Spencer keeps shifting, feeling like his skin doesn't fit properly any more. He just wants Jon, wants to be with him and no one else right now. Jon was all for the deckchair sex plan when Spencer proposed it, but once Ryan starts talking about how he and Tom can have a sex competition with Jon and Spencer to see who can do it in a more risqué place, they just give up and go back to their hotel room.

"What's wrong with a good old bed?" Jon asks, shaking his head in bemusement. Spencer laughs as he kicks off his board shorts across the floor and into the bathroom. They'll dry in there, he figures.

" _Seriously_ ," Jon runs his hand over his bunk bed, looking slightly shell-shocked from Ryan's bragging. "Beds are nice. I like beds. They're warm and comfortable. You're _supposed_ to fuck in beds."

Spencer wants to point out that they just did it in a swimming pool cut from a fucking _cliff_ , but he doesn't. He puts his hands on his hips, cocks them, and stands in front of Jon naked as the day he was born.

"You should show me."

This having vacation sex thing isn't so bad after all, he decides, and laughs as Jon wraps his arms around Spencer's middle, pulls him closer, and drawls, "Fuck yes."

 

**epilogue:**

"Remind me why I'm doing this again?" Spencer scans his apartment one last time, checking for things he might have forgotten, like his iPod, his passport, or his _common sense_ , but his apartment is bare. Tomorrow it won't even be his apartment anymore. He sighs, and wonders why Ryan isn't more upset about this. It's the end of an era.

"Because," Ryan says, rolling his eyes and picking up the lightest of Spencer's bags, "you suck at having casual sex."

"You really do," Tom agrees, coming through the door to take two more of Spencer's suitcases. He smiles at Ryan and steals a kiss as he passes. Spencer barely manages to restrain himself from remarking on the irony, but he does, grunting as he shoulders the last bag.

It's been a year since their vacation, and Spencer is pretty sure Tom has only left Ryan's side once. He's not even exaggerating. Ryan actually meant it when he laid his head on Spencer's shoulder, given him a small, private smile, and said that he and Tom were meant to be together. At the time, Spencer chalked it up to some intoxicating spell that Australia cast over them, but when they arrived back in Vegas with Tom in tow, and he was still in Ryan's bed six months later, Spencer figured it was time to face facts, put some pants on, and give the, "If you hurt my best friend, they won't even find the tiny pieces that remain of you," speech he'd perfected over the years.

"Yeah, well, I was never any good at casual sex." Spencer grins at Ryan, then shakes his head. Ryan is too busy watching Tom play moving man for any sort of best friend banter right now. Spencer elbows him in the side before he gets too starry-eyed and smiles. "You always give shit advice when you're getting laid. _Oh, Spence, you should totally have hot vacation sex even though you know you'll probably fall for the guy and end up regretting it, because you don't even live in the same state, and you met on vacation! Oh, sure, Spencer! Long distance relationships are easy! Vegas and Chicago are only eighteen hundred miles apart! What's that? Jon got a job in Australia? Sure, you should totally move there with him, because me and Tom are going to travel the world having sex at famous landmarks so I won't be around anyway!_ "

Tom laughs and Ryan scowls, but Spencer can see the smile he is trying to fight off. "I do not sound like that," he grumbles, dropping the bag he was carrying and putting his arm around Spencer. "Spence, it's fine. You and Jon are in love, and you were gonna move in together anyway. I know it's a whole new country, but me and Tom will be down soon, and besides, the magazine is talking about basing us in Sydney. They like the photos Tom took of south-east Asia, and Sydney is their closest office."

Spencer nods, looking at the bare walls of their apartment, pretending that Ryan's words are actually helping to mollify him. It's probably just because their apartment, the first taste they ever had of independence, is so empty, bare and lifeless.

"I'm gonna miss it too," Ryan says softly, squeezing Spencer's arm. Spencer drops his head onto Ryan's shoulder, and closes his eyes.

Spencer knows Ryan can tell that he's not entirely placated, that he can feel the knot of worry that's settled between Spencer's shoulders. They communicate through huffs and sighs, through Ryan's hand flat against the back of Spencer's neck. _You'll be okay._ Ryan opens his mouth to add more, but Tom calls out for Ryan, and they both look up to see Jon lingering in the doorway.

"I'll help Tom with the bags." Ryan gives Spencer one last smile and then disappears out the door, squeezing Jon on the arm as he passes.

"So." Jon shoves his hands into his pockets and pushes off the doorframe, shuffling across the floor. "I'd be really worried about you stressing over this if it wasn't for the fact you needed just as much encouragement to actually sleep with me in the first place."

Spencer snorts, taking comfort from the easy way that Jon fits next to him and presses a kiss to his jaw. His stubble scrapes against Spencer's skin, and Spencer smiles, reminded of their very first kiss. Of the calm way Jon dealt with Spencer's freakout on the second week of their tour vacation, sitting with him in front of a campfire, in the middle of the outback, talking until the sun rose. Of their airport goodbye, when Jon tugged on Spencer's hand, pulled him close and kissed him, promising, " _This isn't goodbye._ "

"Come on," Jon says, taking a step forward, and Spencer suddenly doesn't find it so hard to think about leaving the apartment now that Jon's by his side. "I made a bet with Tom that me and you could join the mile high club before he and Ryan can, and I intend to win it."

Spencer laughs and allows himself to be led out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the waiting car. "You are going to get a very rude shock the day you get too old to get it up anymore."

Jon slides into the back seat of Ryan's beat-up station wagon and pulls Spencer in behind him. "If that day ever comes," Jon smiles into Spencer's neck, pulling him close, "I'll just invest in Viagra."

They should put seatbelts on, Spencer knows his road safety and all of that, but for a moment more, he wants to enjoy the feeling of Jon's arms around him, holding on. This is the first time in six weeks they've been together, and the distance hasn't made their relationship easy. "Artificial boners are so tacky," he says, screwing up his nose, but grinning at Jon anyway and craning his neck for a kiss.

Ryan starts the car engine, pointedly ignoring Jon and Spencer's banter. "Seatbelts," he smirks into the rearview mirror, "otherwise you won't be going anywhere, and you won't need Viagra."

Jon rolls his eyes, grinning at Spencer as they both click their belts into place. "I guess I'm lucky that you love me for more than my sexy body, aren't I?"

Spencer's heart _thump-thumps_ in his chest, and he thinks about the past year, from Australia to right now, and everything in between. "I think I'm the lucky one," he says. He tangles Jon's fingers in his, and smiles.

In the front, Tom turns the car radio on.

_love is a reason to exist  
so let it all go and just say yes._


End file.
